


Matchmaker Tate

by heartfeltword



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfeltword/pseuds/heartfeltword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Tate McGucket has an ingenious plan to get his dad together with Stanley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker Tate

**Author's Note:**

> I found this prompt: Imagine person A, the shy/sweet one, is being dragged away by their five year old to a field of flowers. Picking lots of flowers with A behind them, the kid impatiently pushes them in A’s hands. “For me?” “No, you have to give them to _________”. Red faced and with a giggling child, A gingerly hands the flowers to person B. “I had to give them to you.” 
> 
> and I couldn't not write some fluffy Fiddlestan. And I like the idea of little Tate bonding with both his dad and Stan.

“C’mon, Daddy!” Little Tate McGucket tugged on his father’s shirt tail. “You promised!”

Fiddleford smiled down at his little boy, “Just one second okay? I want t’ write this down b’fore I forget.”

Tate huffed but let go of his father’s shirt to hover over Stanley Pines. Stan wasn’t busy documenting the findings of the trio’s recent adventures and was able to occupy Tate. Fiddleford scribbled as fast as he could, in a hurry to both write the information down and go for a walk with his son. It had become a ritual every Tuesday and Friday Fiddleford would take his son out for a walk and do whatever the little guy wanted to do. Usually it meant rolling around in the grass together and reading books to each other.

“And then,” Stan was telling an over dramatic tale of the trios recent adventure. Tate gasped at all the right places. Stan had a way with the young boy that made Fiddleford’s heart warm. Since Stan’s brother, Stanford, was a ruthless employer Fiddleford didn’t get much time to be with his son thankfully Stan was usually able to entertain the boy. To be honest, Stan had become Tate’s second father with how much he baby sat but Fiddleford didn’t mind. The two loved one another and Fiddleford was glad that his son was getting some much needed attention. He was a little jealous though. 

Fiddleford paused, tapping his pencil against his lip, trying to think if he had any last minute additions. Nothing came to mind. He closed his black journal and set his pencil down. Tate knew the sound and was right at Fiddleford’s elbow. He beamed up at his father with a smile he’d learned from Stan. “Ready?” Fiddleford asked.

“I ready Daddy!”

Fiddleford laughed as he stood up and took his son’s hand. “Alright, we’ll be back, Stanley.”

“No hurry.” Stan flashed the two a smile. “Pretty sure Sixer is gonna be busy writin’ in his journal for a while. Take yer time.”

Tate was already tugging his father out the door as Fiddleford waved to the larger man. “C’mon Daddy!”

\--

Tate led the way to a big open field. Fiddleford listened as his son babbled about school and all the things he was learning. Tate was already so smart. Fiddleford couldn’t keep the smile from his face as Tate bounced along side him. “Miss W said we gonna go see baby chickens. I said they not gonna be cute like the gnomes but nobody believed me.” Tate’s face fell for a moment before he looked up to his father. “Gnomes are real, Daddy, right?”

“You’ve seen them haven’t ya?” Fiddleford asked.

Tate nodded. For several months Stanford kept a gnome in his house and let Tate talk to it, mainly because Tate was the only one the gnome would actually talk to and Ford wanted more information.

“People just don’t want t’ believe things like that exist. It scares people.”

“Not me! Or you, Daddy!” Tate grinned. “Or Uncle Ford or Stan!”

“That’s right.”

Tate bounded off into the field, done with the conversation. Fiddleford trailed after him watching his son crouch down and pick wildflowers. Lately Tate had taken to picking flowers and smelling them. He was old enough now to understand his senses and really enjoy the summer flowers. Fiddleford had a vase full of flowers back home that Tate had collected lately. He didn’t get to enjoy them too often, Fiddleford spent most of the day working with Stanford while Tate was at school and in the evening Tate was usually at a friend’s house or, rarely, at Ford’s house with Stan. Fiddleford didn’t mind working long hours but it was hard to see just snippets of his son growing up.

Tate gasped, drawing Fiddleford’s attention back to his child, Tate was watching a butterfly flutter intently. He trailed after it, not watching his feet, and eventually stumbled and fell. Fiddleford quirked an eyebrow and waited for his son to jump back to his feet. Fiddleford learned from numerous people not to fret over the small things, Tate would know when he was really injured.

“Are you ok, Tate?” Fiddleford spoke calmly as Tate brushed off his bare knees.

“Uh huh!” Tate nodded eagerly before resuming to pick flowers.

Fiddleford sighed, moments like this were his favorite. Sometimes he wondered if he made the right decision leaving his wife behind and taking Tate with him. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like if he brought Stan on one of these trips. Stan would be able to make up a game for them all to play. Stan could coax the most amazing laughter from Tate. Stan gave Tate the most gentle look when he thought nobody was looking, but Fiddleford was. Fiddleford liked keeping an eye on his child… and he liked looking at the younger man. He was so different around Tate, he was good natured and full of humor instead of the nasty sarcasm he usually spat at his twin. 

Fiddleford was lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize Tate was tugging on his arm until his son let out a frustrated grunt. “Sorry, son,” Fiddleford apologized as he knelt beside Tate.

“It ok, Daddy.” Tate nodded before shoving a handful of wildflowers into Fiddleford’s hands.

“For me?”

Tate shook his head, “No, you gotta give ‘em to Stan.”

Fiddleford paused, his face heating up. “Why don’t you give them t’ Stan?”

Tate shook his head again, more vigorous this time, “No! You!”

“Alright, I will when we get back. You don’t wanna go back right now do you?” They’d hardly been out for half an hour. Normally Tate begged to stay out until it was sundown so Fiddleford didn’t have to go back to work.

“No! But you keep them safe.” Tate gave his father a stern look.

“I will.” Fiddleford nodded, holding the wildflowers a little more delicately than his child’s meaty grip.

\--

Tate bounded in front of Fiddleford, back to the house, so the two could go home. And so Fiddleford could give Stanley the massive amount of wildflowers, they’d started to wilt a little so Tate picked even more. Fiddleford’s palms were sweaty as he shifted the flowers from hand to hand. Tate was adamant that his father gave them to Stan.

“ _ Stan _ !” Tate called as he threw the door open. “Daddy has somethin’ for you!”

“Tate, keep yer voice down.” Fiddleford chided. Ford hated it when Tate yelled.

Tate didn’t hear his father as he ran through the house trying to locate Stanley. “Staaaan.” Tate called again. Fiddleford sighed, Tate was usually so well behaved, what was causing him to yell and run around when he knew very well Ford didn’t like it.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Stan’s voice rang through the house. “Whacha doin’, Tate? My bro doesn’t like runnin’ and yellin’, you know that.”

“You gotta come!” Fiddleford tried to follow the voices. “Daddy has somethin’ for you.” Fiddleford was feeling embarrassed. He had a fistful of wilted, sweaty wildflowers that his child picked to give to a grown man. But he had to humor his child. Stan would probably take them without question and then tomorrow when they were alone Fiddleford would have to explain Tate being very forceful that these were for Stanley.

Tate rounded a corner and grinned up at his father before darting behind him. He looked almost shy. When Tate first met Stan and Ford he had hidden behind his father’s legs until Stan coaxed him out with some lame magic trick. But that was months ago. Tate knew the twins very well and had no reason to hide.

“Tate, what are-” Fiddleford asked, twisting to look at the boy clinging to his pant leg.

“Hey there, Fiddlesticks.”

Fiddleford gulped, his body going tense, Tate flashed him that dangerous smile, one that would make Stan proud. Fiddleford quirked an eyebrow at his son before he turned to face the other man. “These, uh,” Fiddleford held up the wildflowers, “I had t’ give them t’ ya.”

“Nuh uh!” Tate chirped, nudging his father behind the knee.

Stan smiled and took the flowers. “Thanks, Fidds, these are my favorite.”

“You like flowers?” Fiddleford blurted out. Stan didn’t seem like the type of guy who would know anything about flowers let alone have favorites.

“‘Course. Ma tried to keep flowers an’ I had t’ help her.” Stan stuffed his nose into the wildflowers and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Yer welcome.” Fiddleford felt his face getting warm. He didn’t know any of this but Tate clearly did as the child was giggling behind Fiddleford’s legs.

“Would you like to get lunch tomorrow?” Stan asked suddenly.

“We usually do.”

“No, I mean,” Stan looked away, his cheeks getting a little pink, “just you an’ me… at the diner. Ya know, nothin’ fancy.” He scratched behind his head.

Oh. Fiddleford blinked. “Y-yea that would be nice.”

“Good, good.” Stan nodded before he cleared his throat. “I should, uh, get a vase for these. Thank you.”

“Yer welcome.” Fiddleford was still in shock. Stan asked him to lunch. Like a date? Fiddleford did just give him flowers - from his child.

“See ya tomorrow then.” Stan smiled at him, it made Fiddleford’s heart jump.

“Yea, see ya.”

“G’bye Stan!” Tate called before he tugged his father back out the door.

“See ya later, Tate.”

\--

Once in the privacy of Fiddleford’s old station wagon Fiddleford glanced to his son. “You knew those were Stan’s favorites didn’t ya?”

Tate nodded. “Uh huh! Miss W said she got flowers from the boy she liked. And you like Stan.” Tate said it so simply it surprised Fiddleford. “And Stan likes you.”

“He does?” Fiddleford couldn’t stop the question from flying out of his mouth. He sounded like a schoolgirl talking about the classroom cutie.

Tate nodded, “Uh huh! An’ I thought he would like them flowers from you! And now you gonna go get lunch with him! Maybe he’ll share his fries with you!” Fiddleford smiled. Tate was so sweet and innocent yet he had thought this whole plan up on his own. He was certainly smart. Certainly Fiddleford’s son. “Cindy shared her fries with me today.”

“Do you like Cindy?” Fiddleford asked. Cindy had been mentioned a few times before by the young boy but Tate didn’t seem too interested.

Tate kicked his feet back and forth in front of him. “I dunno. I like fries though.” The life of a child was so much simplier. “Nick shared his fries with me too.”

“Do you like Nick?” Fiddleford asked again.

Tate didn’t answer for a bit as he kicked his feet. “I dunno.”

“Alright. You just focus on school ok?” Fiddleford thought his son was too young to delve into the world of dating or even crushing but he would support his son no matter what. Tate hummed in agreement but stayed quiet for the rest of the trip. Fiddleford couldn’t believe it but his son, his baby, had just set him up with a date. He would grow up to be quite the matchmaker. “Thank ya, Tate.”

“For what, Daddy?”

“Being the best son ever.” Fiddleford ruffled his son’s hair earning him a squeal and a giggle. “I love you so much, Tate.”

“I love you too, Daddy!”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me prompts at heartfeltword.tumblr.com!


End file.
